


Bet Your Bottom Dollar

by JoJo



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 2K Round-up Challenge, Episode Related, Episode: s02e12 Serpents, Gift Fic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/pseuds/JoJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out that Stutz's blood money was good for more than just saving Ezra's life</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet Your Bottom Dollar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeke Black (istia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/istia/gifts).



> a little birthday present for the inestimable istia :)
> 
> and with thanks to farad for her thoughts on an early draft

The night after Stutz was shot Chris drank a bellyful of whiskey. 

He hadn’t planned to and didn’t feel in need of it – that itching, aching need – but nevertheless he was there, hipshot against the bar.

At first he supposed it was because he was keeping pace with Buck. 

In the course of the ten minutes since he ambled into the saloon, Buck had switched rapidly from beer to shots of Red Eye. Apparently he was drowning his sorrows. One minute he’d been strolling along the street in the sunshine, arm in arm with that good-looking Miss Perkins, and the next she was gone. Which, judging by Buck’s big, false grin and fulsomely welcoming attitude this evening, seemed equally a cause for celebration as depression. Things were rarely as straightforward as they appeared with Buck though. He was in a confusion all right. Although Chris didn’t quite know why, he figured the least he could do was stand him some company.

“It’s just that he don’t even really know for sure,” J.D. offered in a low voice, when Buck weaved his way out to the privy. “That’s what I think anyhow. He just ain’t exactly sure what to think about her – that Louisa – only that it might be something you know... important.”

To have the kid offering up those kinds of insights on Buck and his women should have made Chris laugh. But hell, somewhere along the way since the Seminole village, Buck had started talking to J.D. instead of him. Really talking. He figured J.D., for all he was immature, was maybe the one who knew more about what was in Buck’s big heart right now than any of them. The one who could see that Buck was struggling with the whole bothersome, pain-in-the-ass notion of being in love and wondering whether he was or not. Chris had to almost shake that thought right out of his head. It made him feel strangely discontented. 

“He’ll be fine,” Chris said, because he could see J.D. was worried.

Buck snorted at them when he came back in and found them both there waiting for him. 

“Don’t need nurse-maidin’,” he grumbled.

That was probably true. 

So then Chris thought that maybe he was still hanging around in the saloon instead of getting to bed because Vin was now there too, downing a single, anti-social shot in silence. Like him, Vin wasn’t in the mood for hard liquor, and drank the accompanying beer slowly, thoughtful where Buck was reckless. Chris was aware of him, aware of his body language, the slight slump to his shoulders. It was Josiah who’d suggested Vin was still festering over the pretty gun, wondering if he should like it so much. Chris thought Vin should be proud he’d taken Stutz down with its sophisticated sights, saved a life at risk. Proud he hadn’t had to make it a head shot. There was some power in a gun like that. Could be Vin felt guilty at having that power. Yeah, maybe Vin was festering about that, or the lies of Governor Hopewell. Damn snake-in-the-grass politician.

Or maybe he was just bone tired, like they all were.

“It was a nice, nice shot,” Buck kept slurring, thumping Vin in the center of the back. Vin put up with that, but gave Chris a side eye, perhaps asking a question.

“Yeah, you did good.” 

The praise came out easy. Like it had done for Ezra.

There was some stuff Chris could have said about Vin helping himself to the gun in the first place, or even why he hadn’t said anything. He wondered about the reason Tanner was being so hard on himself, and wanted to find out.

Not tonight though. It would wait. 

When he looked round from the bar where he was casually keeping Buck upright, he saw Vin slide into a chair at a far table. Josiah sat there, nursing his own bottle, demeanor not inviting approach. There were not many who would ignore that demeanor and still be silently welcomed, but Vin was one. What was rankling the preacher Chris didn’t quite know. Something full of thorns. It would be to do with today somehow, that was for sure.

And that damned money. Everything seemed to be to do with that, one way or another.

He let the smell of whiskey tickle his nose. Let the heat burn his lips. Then he swallowed a small mouthful, and felt like he’d had enough. J.D. had departed not long ago. The kid didn’t have the stamina for serious drinking, which was probably something of a blessing all round.

“Buck,” Chris said, with a nudge. “You’re on your own.” 

Buck was boneless and heavy-eyed, already at the point where he’d soon be folding into a chair, hunching down over his glass and briefly engaging with his inner melancholia before he passed out. Chris wasn’t worried about him. Buck never threatened to jump from any cliff-tops, just danced about noisily near the edge from time to time, then generally slid into sleep. Vin and Josiah were on watch to make sure that was what happened this time.

Chris tipped his chin to say goodnight to them. Vin’s rose minutely in return and Josiah held up his glass. Once he was out on the boardwalk Chris meant to go straight along to the boarding house. Roll into bed. His mind was telling him to do that, and yet his feet didn’t turn left to go that way, but took him to the right, on down the street towards the Livery instead.

All the time he’d been leaning against the bar with Buck there’d been another thought scratching around in his head. It was a troubling thought, but that wasn’t a surprise because the subject of it was troubling too. 

He needed to see Ezra. There was some unfinished business between them and as hard as his cool brain was telling him it was the money and what Ezra had thought he was doing leaving town with it stuffed in his jacket, his gut and chest were telling him it was something else.

“Hey,” a low voice hailed him from the shadows, and knocked him out of his reverie.

Nathan was coming towards him from the foot of the Livery steps, his hat on his head, jacket loosely fastened against the evening cool. Chris guessed that likely he hadn’t eaten yet, was probably on his way to see if the restaurant was still open. 

“Everything all right?” Chris asked, noticing the set of Nathan’s lips.

“Psssh,” Nathan said. “Jus’ told him he maybe ought not to be running back to the saloon just yet – he needs to take it a little easy, just for a night. Feels like we’ve been jawing about it for hours.” The lips relaxed a little. “I think I lost.”

“Thought there might be a problem. You want me to have a word?” It seemed like a good way to explain why he was here.

That seemed to amuse Nathan for a moment, then he became more serious again. 

“He’s a grown man. If he wants to sit up half the night over a game of cards with cracked ribs and the rest, well.. guess that’s his right.” He shook his head in discontent. “Didn’t lose too much blood, but... man don’t need to.”

“Maybe I could see if he’ll take a friendly word of advice.”

“Tell him to stay where he is,” Nathan said over his shoulder, not sounding as if he was convinced Chris was the right person to be doling out friendly advice. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Chris let him disappear into the gloom and then put his foot on the bottom step. He was still in a half a mind about whether he should be here, or should be making his way instead to the peace and quiet of his room. All was silent when he reached the balcony where, only a few hours before, Ezra had been lounging around. He’d been rumpled and unrepentant then, perhaps a little high on some concoction of Nathan’s. And he’d made Chris laugh. 

Heck, was it really true that although the others might amuse him more often, and try his patience less, it was only Ezra who made him laugh out loud? 

“It’s me,” he said, mouth close to the panels as he tapped. When he didn’t hear any response he turned the handle to open the door.

There was a low lamplight in the room, which smelled just faintly of carbolic soap and salve. That much was the same as ever. But tonight there was something else in here as well, another scent, something he was surprised to find much more... appealing. It was warm and sharp at the same time. He knew he’d smelled it before and liked it. Liked it a hell of a lot. That and the slops of whiskey in his stomach made him almost light-headed. 

Standing in front of a small mirror fixed to the wall, Ezra was finishing up shaving - of all things he really didn’t need to be doing right now. There was a basin of water on the table under the mirror, and a towel, as well as an open black leather case about the size of a woman’s purse, a fine-looking glass bottle with a silver stopper, and a pot. With his eyes in the glass, staring straight at the visitor, Ezra swished his long-handled razor through the water several times, and then blotted it dry on the towel. He seemed wary to have Chris in the room, although it was more some kind of discomfiture than any fear.

“Don’t mean to disturb you,” Chris said. 

Aware of the gust of air that came in with him, he pushed shut the door with his elbow. He was aware, too, of what Ezra was wearing. Or not wearing. His red jacket from earlier in the day had been discarded and Chris couldn’t see it anywhere. Maybe with the ripped and blood-splattered lining it was beyond cleaning and repair. He was trussed up pretty tight in the sling and binding, one pale shoulder immobilized. The white wrappings finished neatly under his ribcage, leaving a strip of smooth skin between the bottom edge and the waistband of a fresh pair of pinstriped pants. The pants were as yet not fully fastened, suspenders hanging loose by his hips.

Chris felt troubled all over again. He was struck by how very... fine the man was. And how that thought made him want to smile.

He cleared his throat. “Nathan said you thought you were coming down.”

“That was my intention.” Ezra’s voice was softer than usual, sapped of its usual clarity. Certainly nothing like it had been earlier when he’d spoken to Chris from on high, probably goaded by Nathan and grinning fit to bust. After patting his face with the towel one-handedly, Ezra turned round. He looked weary, like you’d expect, those same dark circles under his eyes. From blood loss, the powder burn, the shock. But there was a slight flush around his pale cheeks too. It didn’t look like fever, more like the blush of embarrassment.

“Don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

“I feel a drink might be in order.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “That’s what Buck feels too.”

Ezra didn’t quite smile. He moved towards the chair under the window stiffly. A clean shirt and vest were draped over the back, along with a necktie. Chris wondered who’d fetched them. And all the items on the table.

“Mrs. Travis,” Ezra said in explanation, his voice still quiet. Reaching for the shirt, he winced before he could get hold of it, then carefully replaced his good arm to his side, defeated.

“Nathan says you should rest.”

Attempting to turn only his head and not any part of his torso, Ezra acknowledged the good sense of this with not much more than a movement of his lips. The shadowy light of the lamp made the lines of tension around his eyes look deeper than they probably were.

“You could assist me?” he suggested, evidently deciding to take no notice of the advice. 

“That’s right, make me an accessory.” Chris kept his own tone light, but he was puzzled, really. Not that Ezra was trying to finagle his way out of the clinic, but why he’d solicit such help and close contact from someone who not only wasn’t his doctor, or even his best friend, but was the man apparently charged with keeping him in line. When Ezra stubbornly reached again for his shirt with a low exhalation of discomfort, and this time just about snagged it, Chris moved towards him. He found himself taking the shirt out of Ezra’s hands, shaking his head. “This is why you should rest.” He was surprised at the kindness in his voice.

If kindness it was.

The material was soft to the touch, a fine cotton weave. It smelled fresh and clean, the same as Ezra did. He thought of threading the sleeve up Ezra’s bare arm, over the broad muscled curve of his shoulder.

Ezra hesitated for a moment. Then he began to shrug out of the sling, left it hanging loose from his neck. The bandaging around his upper arm and shoulder, slightly brown with recent bleeding, showed where the bullet had deflected, angled away from its target by the hidden wad of notes. He twisted at the hips, gingerly presented the arm for the shirt, one eye closed against the sharp pull of the wound.

“No,” Chris said, and there was no kindness in his voice now. It hitched slightly when he spoke, revealed some emotion he didn’t care to identify. He tossed the shirt back on the chair. “I’m not doing this. Put the damned sling back on.”

Ezra’s shoulders stiffened and that made him wince again. He swallowed. “I can’t,” he said through his teeth. 

“For cryin’ out loud...” Chris crossed the space between them. “Here... I can do it. And then you can damned well stay here like you’ve been told.”

“Like you would I suppose,” Ezra caviled, one brow hiking.

“Nathan knows what’s best.” 

Ezra took a few considered breaths, as if obliging himself to relax, and then inclined his head slightly. A polite acknowledgement that he’d been well cared for. 

“Mostly,” he said and then hitched his shoulder slightly. “But this? This is really just a damned... inconvenience. I’m not badly hurt.”

Chris was blind-sided by his reaction. Seemingly out of nowhere a rush of emotion poured through him, hot and angry and scared. That moment, that moment when he’d thought... 

“For Christ’s sake, Ezra! You took a bullet, close range.... Jesus. You’re lucky you didn’t fuckin’ die out there!” His pulse jumped thickly through his veins.

Anxiety flitted over Ezra’s face. Shock, too, at the vehemence of Chris’s comeback, the nature of the reproach. His reply was nervy, predictably defensive, although there was a flash of heat in his eyes.

“Perhaps you think I didn’t deserve to be so fortunate? Seein’ as I was clearly in the process of absconding with all that money.” He glanced away, swallowed again. “And you would of course be right.”

Chris pursed his lips. He had to wait a few seconds for the head-rush to subside, so he could speak normally again. 

“No, I’d be wrong.” 

As he stepped in and took careful hold of the edges of the sling he was hopelessly aware of the proximity of Ezra’s skin, the even plane of his belly. It seemed strangely vulnerable. He couldn’t not see the suspicion of dark hair below the navel.

Christ.

“You sure about that?” Ezra drawled, faintly combative, and Chris inhaled sharply.

He jutted his chin in irritation. Probably at himself, but maybe at Ezra too. “Yeah,” he said, voice more strangled than he was hoping. “I’m sure about that. So stop yapping and let me do this. Careful now, you need to just angle your... easy... nice and easy.” 

Ezra stood still, stiffly positioning his arm so the cradle of the sling could be slid under his elbow. Taking care not to jostle, Chris drew the cloth along the tensed forearm to the wrist. The look of Ezra’s hands was very familiar to him. There was wisdom in watching them real close when you were in a game else hell knew what would happen to your hard-earned cash. They were mobile hands, strong, good to look at. But the delicate inside of Ezra’s wrist, the definition of the tendons, the lines on his palm – all this was uncharted territory. As Chris settled the sling in place, making sure the whole limb was supported, his hand accidentally brushed Ezra’s curled fingers. Unsurprisingly they were chilled and purely from instinct Chris chafed them with a thumb. When he looked up Ezra’s eyes were fixed on him, wary, but welcoming the comfort nonetheless.

“How’s that?” Chris said, gruff. He slid his hand away, stepped back.

“Perfectly fine.”

“Well - good.”

Ezra glanced down at the sling, waggled his fingers regretfully. 

“So I just have to sit in here like this?” he said. “All night?”

“Nathan said he’d be back. He’ll have some brew to help you sleep.” Chris felt a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. “So you may as well sit down on the bed and wait.”

“I can’t think of many things worse,” Ezra said, long-suffering. “Than you as Mr. Jackson’s enforcer.”

“Reckon you could if you put your mind to it.”

Seeing there was nothing else for it Ezra looked over at the bed and grimaced. “Oh Lord,” he said. The flush that had been on his face earlier seemed to be fading and when he took a step the remaining color was about sucked out. He looked as if he was going to fold up on the floor, as if there was nothing holding him up but air.

“Don’t know what you thought the point was getting up in the first place,” Chris said quickly. He stepped close again, put one hand in the small of Ezra’s back, half on the binding and half against the heat of him. Felt the softness and the muscle. “I’m pretty damned sure Nathan told you to stay in bed, not get dressed and primped.”

Ezra didn’t answer immediately. He seemed to be trying to get himself together, keeping his eyes shut, leaning into the support. Eventually he murmured, “It makes me feel better.”

“I’m sorry?”

The eyes blinked open. “Shaving. I can’t stand... can’t stand...”

Chris’s heart squeezed at the naked tone. “Yeah,” he said, throat clogged, eyes roving over the smooth lines of cheekbone and jaw. “Yeah, I know.” He was only too aware that his hand was still against Ezra’s bare back and that he could smell his hair.

“I’m all right,” Ezra whispered after a moment more. “Really.”

Chris took his hand away slowly. Reluctant. “Sit,” he commanded.

“Mr. Larabee,” Ezra said, turning to face him again. A little frown of sincerity had appeared between his eyes. “Thank you for your assistance. And I really think I should say, should make it quite clear that I wish.. I mean I don’t intend...”

“Quit that,” Chris said. That tone – kindness, whatever it was – had crept back into his voice. “I don’t want a goddamned apology, that’s not what I came for.”

“No but you deserve more from me than...”

“Would you shush?” Exasperation blew through him and something else. Something that made his chest tight and his stomach warm. “Listen. Been down there in the saloon thinking there was something I needed to settle. The boys are all in a goddamned twist – Buck, Vin, Josiah. I had plenty I coulda said to them. But I don’t know, that wasn’t it. Hell, so then I thought maybe I was gonna come up here and chew _your_ ear off. About taking that goddamned fuckin’ money that doesn’t belong to you. About knowin’ you were ready to run out on us, after everything, like we didn’t mean nothing at all. But shit... turns out I don’t want to say anything like that.” He heaved his shoulders. “All it is... is just fuckin’ look after yourself, Ezra. That’s all it is.” 

Ezra gaped at him. Then his lips curved, a little surprised, upward quirk of pleasure. 

“Taken in the spirit in which it was intended I’m sure.”

“Well I fuckin’ hope so.” 

Chris knew he was practically glaring. Couldn’t help it, even though in that moment things between them seemed warm, their friendship unusually solid. He thought for a moment Ezra was about to pat the side of his arm. Which would have been brave of him since Chris didn’t take kindly to being patted as a general rule. But suddenly the back of Ezra’s free hand was against his face and all thoughts of friendship crumbled. The touch, a brief trail of fingers down his stubbled cheek seared through him, almost stole his breath. He should have knocked it away of course, for it had no right to be there. Should have said something, and pretty damn straight, but in fact there was nothing to say. His feet were rooted to the floor, his heart turning over in slow, thrilling motion. 

“The sentiment,” Ezra said quietly, “is most decidedly reciprocated.” 

His hand dropped away and he seemed very tired all of a sudden. 

Even though he knew his feet were firmly planted, Chris felt as if the room were taking a moment to settle. “Right,” he agreed.

“And now I should await the inestimable Mr. Jackson and you should probably leave. Who knows what’s happening out there by now.”

Of course. There was still Buck and Vin and Josiah to worry about. Down there in the saloon drinking whiskey and getting themselves in a twist.

Damn them! And damn Nathan for being about to come back. Damn the Governor and all his employees, past and present. Damn Stutz, father and son, and most of all damn that damned, bitching money.

Ezra gave him a half-amused look as if he could read his thoughts. He finally sat himself down with care on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll go then. Get some rest,” Chris said, turning away.

And then just as he was at the other side of the room, ready to leave, Ezra said, “Perhaps we could resume this discussion. Perhaps we could... tomorrow.”

Chris didn’t say anything back. He found the door handle, let himself out. Maybe he’d shrugged – easygoing or indifferent, whichever was appropriate – although in truth he was sure he felt neither of those things.

Tomorrow.

He didn’t know what the hell tomorrow. Of course not, he never did. But as he began down the steps towards the dark street, for the first time in much too long he was looking forward to the damn sunrise it like it couldn’t come soon enough.


End file.
